


Interstate 80

by sinelanguage



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-07
Updated: 2013-09-07
Packaged: 2017-12-25 20:59:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/957546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinelanguage/pseuds/sinelanguage
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All throughout high school, everyone had a bet going on when Jean and Marco would get together. All throughout high school, Sasha and Connie were sure they were going to win the bet. Now, summer after senior year, they only have two days and one road trip to secure their winnings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Interstate 80

**Author's Note:**

> worriedpanda were discussing head canons, and it a lot of the dialog comes from that and inspired me to write this.
> 
> I swear I'll do something not fluffy eventually. 
> 
> Sami: Help I've fallen and I can't get up.
> 
> edit on 12/24/2013: editted out 'no homo' from this bc its salience and acceptence atm have been bothering me greatly and the same sentiment could be portrayed without a slur so it's been changed. so, cool.
> 
> editted out some things i was not happy with 6/28/2014

Connie and Sasha’s excuse had been that, as current Nebraskans and future University of Nebraska Cornhuskers, they needed to take an extravagant field trip to Salt Lake City in order to have one last view at a landmass that wasn’t an infinite sea of plains. It wasn’t a bad excuse in itself, as the University of Nebraska wasn’t a prime destination for people wanting interesting terrain. But it was very, very far from the truth.

The truth was, they had a bet to win. And damn it to hell if they didn’t have the best plan to rig the system.

From sophomore year onwards, their group of friends had a bet on when the hell Jean and Marco would move from out of their awkward position as friends with an unreasonable amount of unresolved sexual tension that would irritate the fuck out of everyone for centuries. Christa had reluctantly bet by prom; Ymir by never. Reiner said and kept changing his bet to ‘a week from now.’ Armin bet on the month before the two went to college, and Eren and Mikasa bet the same.

Connie and Sasha had guessed by the end of senior year, but the end of senior year had come and gone, and as each day passed, they stepped closer and closer to losing their winnings. They only had two days until Armin’s group would be the default winners, and the duo needed a plan, and a plan that would actually work.  

It’s not like they hadn’t tried manipulating the situation before. Most of their friends had at least attempted to push Jean and Marco together. Their high school career was full of accidental almost-kisses, entrapment in janitor’s closets, rigged games of spin the bottle, and falsified Valentine’s cards. Nothing aroused suspicion, and nothing changed the situation.

And, so, this road trip became their last hope. They had 48 hours until Sasha would have to give any fellow Cornhusker a portion of her food hoard and Connie would cough up about every video game he owned. The situation, was, thus, desperate, and thus a roadtrip across 900 miles of highway was born.

 

* * *

 

Jean had no idea why he’d agreed to this trip. Being someone who was actually moving out of the grassy wasteland of Nebraska, he didn’t feel the need to venture off into the wilderness one last time before summer ended. However, he’d been pestered and bribed into Connie and Sasha’s plans because he had what they called a “road trip car.” He figured they meant a car with decent gas milage, when in reality they meant a large car that was cheap enough they wouldn’t feel guilty making a mess of it.

Fortunately for him, Marco had also been roped into Connie and Sasha’s plotting, for the reason that he had a good sense of direction. Why they needed a good sense of direction when the path from Omaha to Salt Lake City was literally a single interstate eluded Jean, but he accepted the bizarre logic nonetheless.

Because of Marco’s addition, Jean had some mixed feelings of giddiness and dread. Marco was his best friend, but he was also someone he wanted to bang. Maybe that was a bit crude; Marco was his best friend, but also someone he wanted to hold hands with and fall asleep watching terrible movies with and make terrible jokes with and, well, bang.

Jean never enjoyed hiding his feelings, but at the same time valued Marco’s friendship too much to try and promote them. So, he had to deal with the awkward position of suppressing his feelings around Marco when he didn’t have much experience in it whatsoever.

And, thus, the giddy dread. The same giddy dread he felt as he sat outside of Marco’s house, leaning on his puke-green minivan and deluding himself into thinking that the car was road-trip worthy for any other reason than it was a piece of shit.

Marco hadn’t taken long to come out, toting a gym bag and what looked like a weeks supply of food. Jean opened the trunk, then stepped over to Marco and took one of the overflowing bags of food. Looking between the bags and Marco, Jean raised an eyebrow. Marco gave a lopsided smile and replied, “Sasha.”

Shrugging and giving a lopsided smile in return, Jean helped Marco shove the rations into the back of his minivan. It didn’t take long after that for them to be off, riding towards Sasha and Connie’s neighborhood.

“You think it’ll be nice at Salt Lake?” Marco asked, looking outside the window at the passing neighborhoods.

Jean rolled his shoulders as a reply, and belatedly realized that Marco couldn’t see that particular gesture. “I’m just hoping Mormon State actually has coffee. No way in hell I’m going to survive Connie and Sasha without it.”

Marco snorted, stretching his arms over the dash. “It’s not going to be that bad. It’ll be nice to spend time with them before they go off to college.”

Jean grunted in reluctant agreement, and the car was quiet until they’d reached the entrance to the cul-de-sac where Connie and Sasha lived.

The two were already waiting for Jean, sitting on the curb with their schoolbags filled to the brim, a bagged tent, and two oversized sleeping bags. Sasha looked like she had opened a pack of highlighters and spilled it on herself, while Connie sat around in jorts and a t-shirt with a terrible pun on it. Both looked oddly satisfied with themselves.

Rolling up to them, Jean didn’t bother to get out of the car and instead just honked. The duo, who had already seen Jean pulling up, pushed themselves off of the ground and impatiently barged into the minivan before it was at a complete stop.

“You were right, Marco did bring food!” Connie exclaimed to Sasha much too loudly for someone who was right next to her. Sasha grinned and climbed over the seat to inspect her loot. Not bothering to wait until the two had seatbelted themselves in, Jean jerked the minivan around the cul-de-sac, hoping to get this over with as fast as possible.

However, he’d made the wrong decision if he wanted speed. Sasha dramatically flew off her seat and into Connie, causing the shorter boy to screech undignifiedly. “Marco’s driving,” Connie spluttered, not having recovered from Sasha toppling over onto him, “We’ll mutiny if he doesn’t!”

“This isn’t his car!” Jean retorted, and Marco piped in with the more rational “I don’t know if insurance’ll work with me driving.”

“If we get pulled over, we’ll just need to do a Chinese Fire Drill and we’ll be fine,” Connie brushed off Marco’s protesting, ignoring Jean completely. Sasha added in, “I don’t think Marco’d get pulled over, anyway!”

Despite Jean’s continued protesting, Sasha and Connie harassed the two to switch places. Marco drove considerably smoother than Jean had in the 5 seconds he was driver, and Jean was left to drum his fingers on the armrest in irritation.

As Marco pulled onto the interstate, it only took a couple minutes before the novelty of a road trip wore off and everyone became insufferable. Sasha ate potato chips with an unwarranted aggression, and Jean’s forehead plastered itself to the car window.

“How much longer?” Connie asked. He’d managed to position himself in the most bizarre way possible, yet his seatbelt remained fastened.

“About, I don’t know, 900 miles,” Jean huffed back, refusing to extract his head to look at Connie.

Connie groaned, and Jean objected, “You’re the one that chose Salt Lake City! It’s not like there weren’t any other options. I mean, Boulder’s even closer-”

“it wouldn’t really be a _road trip_ ,” Connie protested.

“It would be less time on the same damn interstate!” Jean had now pulled himself off the window to glare at the back seat, “Hell, going to the Appalachian Mountains would be more interesting, and-”

“-those are glorified hills!” Sasha cut him off. Marco looked over from his driving, smiling in amusement but eyebrows furrowing in slight concern.

Jean threw his arms up, almost hitting Marco. “We live in _Nebraska._ We know _nothing_ about hills.”

This offended Sasha, and she pointed an accusatory potato chip at Jean’s face. “Hey! I go hiking with my pa every…” She trailed off, giving a panicked look towards Connie. They were supposed to be naive, forever-surrounded-in-corn Nebraskans, not hikers well-versed in the wilderness and hills. She shoved the accusatory potato chip in her mouth.

Luckily, Marco unknowingly rescued Sasha from spoiling their plan. “Calm down- Salt Lake’s a great place to go, it’ll be fun. Besides, it’s not a road trip unless there’s a boring, uneventful stretch in the middle.” He paused, then turned up the radio.

Sasha, not appeased by the remark in the least but happy enough the plan hadn’t been spotted, looked out the window at passing cars. Connie, now slouched as far as he could manage in his seat, poked Sasha with his foot.

When she looked over, he pointed toward the window with his chin. “If you’re gonna look out of the window, you have to at least make faces at cars.”

Giving Connie a brief shit-eating grin, Sasha transformed her face into something out of a horror movie. Her jaw shifted unevenly to one side, her nostrils flared just as unevenly, her head pushed back to where she had five extra chins, and her eyes popped out like a goldfish. Connie returned the previous shit-eating grin, giving Sasha a thumbs up. “Let the games begin,” he whispered, and Sasha turned the monstrosity that was her face toward oncoming traffic.

A short, chubby elementary school student witnessed the horror first. He tried to return the face with a one of equal offense, but failed. Sasha put out a fist to Connie in success, and he tapped it with the heel of his foot.

In the front seat, Jean had somehow managed to fall asleep against the window already and despite having a cup of coffee that morning. A drizzle of drool dripped off of his face and onto the door of the minivan. Marco turned down the radio and smiled at Jean with a fondness unwarranted for looking at a drooling, slack-jawed, and not-very-attractive-at-the-moment teenaged boy.

Putting the minivan on cruise control, he quickly dislodged his cell phone from his back pocket and snapped a quick picture of Jean. Marco had already gotten one earlier in the day, when Jean had come to pick him up. Figuring that their entire trip needed to be documented, Marco uploaded the photo to facebook with the quick caption of “he’s left me to put up with the children alone.”

Said children had plastered themselves to the back of their seats, trying to get as low as possible. Making silly faces at cars had been a blast until they targeted an irritated two hundred pound man driving a truck plastered in confederate flags.

The man had stared them down, his face transforming from a passive bitch-face to the look of a cornered bear. Sasha and Connie tried to escape and hide, but there’s only so much to do when they were in a very distinctly colored minivan. Matching the minivan’s pace, the truck refused to relent for a while, but it did eventually slow down. Sasha and Connie sighed in relief, but it didn’t last long. Sasha looked back to see where the truck was, only to see the looming vehicle inches from the them.

The truck loomed behind them in tailgate mode, inching ever closer to the back of the bumper. At this point, Marco looked back uneasily at the approaching truck. Speeding up didn’t make a dent on their distance from it. In fact, speeding up only seemed to make the truck move closer.

Marco gave the two a suspicious look. “I need to pee,” Connie remarked, “At a very public rest station.” Sasha nodded in rampant agreement.

“What if the trucker has to pee too?” Marco gauged them for a reaction. Both Connie and Sasha sunk into their seats more, and Marco’s suspicions were confirmed. Those two had done something to offend the driver behind them. Gripping the steering wheel tighter than he needed to, Marco swerved into the other lane without bothering to turn on his blinker.

The speed of the turn slammed Jean’s face further into the window, waking Jean up with a start. Marco looked over to Jean, but a rageful newly-awoken Jean wasn’t top priority at the moment. Turning to the back of the car with a serious disposition, Marco spoke in a hushed voice, “The next bathroom stop is in twenty miles.” Sasha opened a container of oreos, giving one to Connie and panic-ate two at once.

Jean blinked, slowly, confused as to why a bathroom break would entice such solemnity. “Can’t you just make ‘em pee on the side of the road,” Jean quipped lazily and sleepily. Connie and Sasha responded by shoving fist-fulls of oreos into their mouths.

Still helplessly confused, Jean looked into the rear-view mirror and found the terrifying answer there. Gulping slowly, Jean grasped the dashboard with white-knuckles. _“What the fuck did you two shits do,”_ Jean hissed, refusing to keep his eyes off the road directly in front of him.

Sasha gave a muffled response, and oreo crumbs flew everywhere. Connie blubbered some apology, with the only discernable part being “I told her to! It’s not her fault!”

In the front seat, Marco pursed his lips in concentration. Speeding up, he changed lanes time and time again, making some distance between the minivan and the enraged truck driver. If Jean hadn’t been in fear of his life, he probably would admit that it was sort of hot.

After fifteen minutes of tense quietness, with the only breaks being the crunching of panic-eating and the soft hum of cheesy, out of place pop music, Jean saw their exit. Moving one hand off the dash and to Marco’s shoulder, Marco nods in confirmation that he had, in fact, seen the exit.

The exit approached rapidly, and Marco hadn’t put on his turn signal yet. Jean gripped Marco’s shoulder tighter, clenching the fabric of his shirt between his fingers. Only at the last possible moment, Marco veered into the exit, leaving the truck lost on the interstate.

They occupants of the puke-green minivan let out a breath of relief as they pulled into the rest stop. Jean’s grip on Marco’s shoulder hadn’t lessened, but Connie and Sasha were already piling out of the car. Marco placed the minivan in park, and dislodged Jean’s fingers slowly.

“I’m going to go to the bathroom,” Marco said, trying to sound comforting. Jean nodded slowly, but remained in the car.

Outside, there was some bickering over which bathroom to go to- Connie just wanted to flee to the men’s bathroom, but Sasha kept clinging to him and muttering about how she didn’t want to be alone in the ladies’ in case the trucker found her. Eventually, they decided on an awkward adventure to the family restroom.

Marco refused to drive the next stretch, and Jean, having calmed down, agreed that he probably deserved a break.

 

* * *

 

It hadn’t taken long for Marco to regret his decision of letting Jean drive.

Connie and Sasha had calmed down after they almost caused everyone’s demis. They’d decided that playing gameboy was probably a better option than upsetting passing drivers, so they’d dug out their SPs and played an intense game of Four Swords. There was an occasional scuffle over throwing a pot on someone’s head or stealing the other person’s hard-earned rupees, but internal strife was preferable over pissing off people on the road.

Jean, however, had not calmed down. He gripped the wheel tightly and sat with better posture than he had during his driving test. Every few seconds he would glance at the rear-view mirror, thinking he saw a phantom trucker after him.

Marco had taken several stealth pictures during the time period, but only posted one to facebook. It wasn’t fun trying to take pictures of Jean when he was obviously never going to find out.

However, the lack of fun in taking stealth pictures wasn’t the source of Marco’s regret. The source was that Jean had utter control over the car, they needed gas, and Jean hadn’t used the last rest stop. It was the ultimate setup for failure, and Marco knew it.

Sure enough, when the next exit came up, Jean signaled into it much to everyone’s dismay. Sasha quit playing her game, allowing Connie to shove her over a ledge. “We were just at a rest stop!” Sasha complained, and Connie took the time to open as many chests as possible.

“Yes and it _traumatized all of us_ ,” Jean started, “I couldn’t get out of my seat. And unless you want me to shit my pants, right here and now, we are stopping. Besides, we’re almost empty on gas anyway.”

They couldn’t think of a clever retort to that, and just accepted the fate. Marco, however, knowing about all of Jean’s idiosyncrasies, looked apprehensive. “We’re stopping at the first gas station,” he said, oddly tense.

Jean, going power-mad with the realization it was his car and no one could boss him around, shook his head. “We are going to the _cheapest_ gas station.”

The cheapest gas station on the exit had probably appeared long ago, but Jean swore whenever he passed one he could find one cheaper. Their tank had slowly and slowly become more empty, and Jean had to finally admit defeat and stop at what looked like the sketchiest gas station to ever exist.

Jean parked the minivan in front of the pump, shutting it off. There was an odd silence as everyone refused to get out of the car. Jean unbuckled his seatbelt, and opened his door.

“We’re not stopping at another station until we need more gas,” he started, and Connie muttered hypocrite under his breath. In reality, Jean just wanted a group to go with him into the gas station so he wouldn’t have to deal with the torture alone.

Sliding a debit card into the meter, Jean shoved the nozzle into the car. By this point, everyone had reluctantly piled out of the minivan. Connie looked suspicious of the entire thing, and Sasha looked uneasy but also looked like she really, really needed to pee. Locking the doors, he handed Connie the keys. “If you leave without us,” Jean warned, as if that was an option. Connie nodded his head, and slouched on to the minivan trying to look casual.

The three remaining travelers headed into the gas station. A distinctive smell, almost like a skunk smell, permeated the building. Jean headed single-mindedly toward the bathroom, and Marco followed reluctantly to make sure he wouldn’t be killed. Sasha looked toward the concessions, decided that it wasn’t worth it, and found the ladies’ rest room as a family trip hadn’t been an option.

It surprised Jean that the gas station didn’t just have a unisex bathroom, but he didn’t complain. Instead, he piled about half the roll of toilet paper onto the toilet to protect himself to whatever the fuck was there, and took his sweet time with shitting. Marco would knock apprehensively on the door every now and then, and Jean would call back with an “Almost done” when in, reality, he wasn’t.

Sasha had, however, drawn the short straw. She opened the door to her rest room, and her jaw dropped. Quickly, she took out her phone and texted Connie, ‘there’s no trash cans in this restroom and the toilet doesnt flush.’ Apprehensively, she looked over her shoulder at the judgy sales clerk, then locked herself in hell.

‘please tell me this just means people flush everything anyway’ Connie texted back. Sasha shook her head at the phone, and took as many paper towels as she could to make a pathway to the toilet. While on the toilet, she focused on sending a text back instead of looking at her surroundings.

‘where do the period pads go. not the trash can. THE WALL.’

Connie didn’t respond in his normal time, so Sasha takes the opportunity to traumatize him more.

‘people don't even flush toilet paper here it's everywhere and it stinks h e l p m e’

It wasn’t really true, but she figured that it was believable. It took her mind off the real horrors of the room she’d locked herself in.

Connie still didn’t text back when Sasha was done with the deed, so she washes her hands and thinks of a better way to describe it. As she’s finishing up and wondering where to put her paper towel, her phone buzzes. Eagerly, she unlocks her phone to read the text, only to have her eagerness turn to horror.

‘CONFEDERATE TRUCKER BACK. i am hiding under bags of potato chips in the trunk. our supplies are low. getting lower atm. we are going to die here, and all of it will be jean and marco’s stupid fault.’

Despite being in the bathroom from hell, she doesn’t want to leave. She forwards the message both Jean and Marco, ignoring any implications of the last bit. She didn’t care if their plans were found out, she just needed to survive.

Jean, finally finished with his shitting, looked at the text with horror. Marco, evidently, had seen the text, as he was banging on the door with panicked frequency. ‘in one minute RUN AS FAST AS POSSIBLE TO THE CAR’, Jean texted to everyone.

Then, he pulled up his pants, washed his hands as quickly as possible, and texted Connie. ‘crawl over and start the car. ur short as fuck so he wont see u. only unlock the door when we are almost there.’

He had about thirty seconds left as he opened the door and saw a panicking Marco. “Turn on your GPS,” Jean hissed at him. Then, giving up his pride and man points, he added, “And _you are driving_. You pull some Grand Theft Auto level shit that we are going to _need_.”

At that point, the ladies’ bathroom door had opened and Sasha had begun sprinting out. Marco and Jean quickly followed, even though Marco was still typing in ‘Salt Lake City’ into his phone and Jean didn’t have his pants zipped.

Exiting the station at a suspicious and rapid pace, the three ran to the minivan at breakneck speed. Connie, having just finished turning on the car, unlocked the doors, and everyone piled into the car with no care about whose limbs they got tangled into. Before the doors were even closed, Marco tossed Jean his phone, moved the minivan out of park and slammed on the gas.

The minivan whirred off into the distance, and the teenagers inside the car jolted around. Connie hung over the console, bouncing around like a rubber ball, and Sasha had flung herself across both back seats. Jean’s face was where his feet should be, but he managed to hold onto Marco’s phone that had began to spew directions. Connie hadn’t pulled out the gas nozzle, so the nozzle and tube swung alongside the car, marking its puke-green exterior

Jean turned himself around and shoved his seatbelt on. The other two had managed to dislodge themselves, but collected some food rations from the back before going back to their seats. Jean tried to look back and see where confederate truck man was, but Marco stopped him with an outstretched hand.

“Jean,” Marco started, and Jean looked at him with panicked eyes, “Which lane do I need to be in.”

Looking quickly at the phone, Jean spewed as much information as he could. “Um, left.” Marco turned on the blinker, and Jean clarified in a screech, “OTHER LEFT.”

By that time, Marco hadn’t bothered with turning on the blinker. He jolted the car through graveled, one-way streets and asked Jean as many questions as possible to keep him looking at the phone’s GPS system. He probably didn’t need to; most of the answers he got from the GPS anyway, but it kept Jean from completely panicking.

In the back seat, however, Sasha and Connie were panicking. Sasha wasn’t even eating, just turned around in her seat staring at the truck racing behind them. Connie had slouched into his seat and muttered to himself, trying to keep his mind off of the terror behind him.

Marco turned another tight corner, through what didn’t look like a street. Jean screamed at him and the GPS that _this is street it has to be a street_ and Marco made a sharp u-turn and sped back out of the street. At this point, everyone was screaming in terror as Marco drove straight toward the confederate trucker’s location.

Making a sharp right turn out of the ‘street’, Marco had sped off toward the interstate. The GPS calmed itself, and so did everyone else in the vehicle. For whatever reason, Marco’s rampant turning had worked, and they lost the trucker.

The minivan was quiet. The only sound was sharp, pained breaths and the tube of the gas nozzle hitting the side of the car. Marco turned onto the interstate again, and put on cruise control.

“That was,” Jean started, looking for a word that was not hot.

He couldn’t find one, and Connie finished his sentence for him, _“intense.”_

Sasha nodded in agreement, turning her head away from the back window. All eyes were on Marco, who still gripped the steering wheel like he was glued to it. He let out a small sigh of relief, and then promptly fainted.

There was a collective scream in the car as Jean hastily turned off the road, pulled the keys out, and shifted into neutral.

They stayed on the side of the road with the hazard lights on, and when Marco didn’t wake up for a good ten minutes, Sasha and Jean hauled him out of the front seat and put him in the passenger seat. As everyone calmed down, Jean turned off the hazard lights and merged back onto the interstate. Sasha and Connie had gone back to play Four Swords, and eventually back to eating.

Marco woke up slowly, but once he was awake enough to remember what had happened he jolted up. Jean looked over and lessened his grip on the steering wheel. Smirking at Marco, Jean turned back to the road, “You passed out. On the _interstate_.”

Blinking rapidly, Marco processed the new information, “But we lost the trucker, right?”

Jean nodded, “You lost him, yeah. You lost some man points for _passing out on the interstate_ , but I think losing a rabid confederate keeps you well above Eren-level lack of manliness.”

Marco snorted, “Says the one who kept screaming the entire time.” Jean responded by punching him in the shoulder and, despite his best efforts, laughing.

 

* * *

 

They didn’t go too far before they had to exit the interstate again. Sasha and Connie had managed to eat all the food- their excuse had been they panicked- and left none for Jean and Marco. Pulling off on a populated exit, Jean parked the car next to the first fast food he found, not risking getting lost in the depths of despair again.

Piling out of the car and into the restaurant, if you could call McDonalds a proper restaurant, the group waited in line to order their meals. Jean ordered without really thinking, and Marco had the same double cheese burger he got at every McDonalds. Connie got some bacon monstrosity, and Sasha bought more than all of them combined.

As Jean waited for his food, he scrolled through his facebook feed. To his horror, he found Marco’s documentation of their entire trip so far. First was a picture of him awkwardly leaning against his car, obviously taken from inside Marco’s house. Next was a picture of Jean drooling on his car.

The other ones surprised him, though. Marco had managed- while driving, nonetheless- to document Jean’s entire experience with the trucker. The first instance was his horrified and sleepy face as Marco looked for the nearest bathroom exit. He even managed to upload it with the caption of ‘more info later.’ No more information was uploaded and everyone remained confused.

Next, he managed to take an undignified selfie as Jean and Marco fled from the bathroom. You could only see the right side of Marco’s horrified face, and Jean’s slack-jawed expression of determination and alarm. In the background, Sasha could be seen as a bright teal-orange-yellow streak. Again, there was no description, leaving everyone confused.

Then, had been the picture of Jean driving. He looked seriously freaked out, and most of the comments focused on that fact. A couple others were more intent on pestering Marco about _what the hell happened_ , even though the bathroom visit wasn’t the subject of the photo.

There were a couple more when Marco had been car chasing his way down the alley way. Jean just looked blurry and horrified. Jean had no idea how Marco had taken those, seeing as _he had Marco's phone_ , but didn’t question his friend’s stealth paparazzi status.

The last one was uploaded just a minute ago, with Jean looking up at the McDonald’s menu. It was captioned ‘I thought I brought enough food for this trip. Underestimated Sasha.’ There were already three comments.

Jean stared at his phone, then flagged every single photo and comment as harassment.

Hearing his number called, Jean shuffled over and grabbed his tray. Filling his cup with only soda- he was under the opinion all fast food ice was toilet water- Jean maneuvered past the crowd of impatient fast food goers and to Marco’s table. Sliding into the booth across from Marco, Jean didn’t bother unwrapping his food. Instead, he shoved his facebook feed into Marco’s face and said through his teeth, _“how.”_

Marco shoved a cluster of fries into his mouth, trying to look innocent. Jean didn’t take any of it, instead angrily unwrapping his hamburger and ranting. “You have to be a secret member of the paparazzi,” Jean rambled, shoving a fry in his milkshake, “There is no other excuse. You’ve been trained for this at some secret base at area 52 or wherever, and are practicing your trade on me.”

Marco tilted his head, “Why would they need to send a stealth agent to Omaha?”

Jean shoved a fry into his mouth aggressively. Chewing it quickly, he couldn’t think of a response so he just took a bite out of his burger. Once he finished that, he had something. Leaning over the table, he stared straight at Marco for a long time before whispering, “Tell me your secrets.”

Marco, looking away for a second, ate a fry leisurely. Then, he leaned back into the booth and returned, “I’ll never reveal my secrets. I’ve been trained by agents in area 52, it’s troubling that you already know about them.”

Jean’s still hunched over the table, staring at Marco unblinkingly. He smirked, then narrowed his eyes and said, “I’ll make you.” Marco’s eyes widened and he looked slightly flushed, and Jean belatedly realized that oh, god. He was sending the wrong signals. He was not being intimidating, he was being seductive. Seductive about some dumb pictures and over a tray of McDonalds fries.

Backtracking quickly, Jean leaned back and nearly spilled his shake. “That- that was not a come on. It was something else. Something that was not a come on, really.”

Marco’s face had returned to a playful smirk, and he drank a slow sip out of his soda. Setting down the drink, he retorted in stride, “I knew you had a flirt _somewhere_  in you.” By this time, Sasha and Connie had gotten their food and hid in the booth next to Jean and Marco. Shoving fries into the faces like popcorn, the two watched- and texted- the event.

Jean did not take his response in stride. He had the conflicting reaction of this is great _let us continue flirting ish, I am good at this I am proud_ and _I cannot let my best friend know I want to bang him._ Thinking he can get away with some playful not-flirting, Jean swirled a fry in his shake again. Looking up, he continued swirling his fry as he quipped, “Of course I have a flirt somewhere in me. You’re a flirt, aren’t you?”

He tried to keep a straight face, one that could be taken as ‘friends playfully flirting.’ However, he couldn’t take it in the same stride that Marco had. His ears heated, then his whole face heated. Jean buried himself in his chocolate milkshake, forgetting the fry in it and letting it sink to the bottom.

Sasha and Connie looked on. Sasha missed her face when trying to eat a fry, and Connie misspelled everything in his group message. This was the moment they’d been waiting for; they’d win the bet and free everyone from the awkward sexual tension.

Marco blinked innocently back at Jean. Sasha and Connie, in their position, could only watch Jean’s face for a reaction. The restaurant is loud, and the duo payed close attention to hear what Marco would say.

Marco doesn’t say anything. He put a hand over his mouth and shook. Jean blinked in confusion, about to reach over the table and poke Marco in the shoulder, but then Marco leaned back in his booth and laughed hysterically. Jean, still confused at the situation, managed a hesitant laugh in return.

After he calmed down, Jean tried to dig himself out of his own grave and comment on what a fun joke that was. They’re standing up and shoving their trash into an overflowing can. Marco shook his head, pat Marco’s shoulder in a guy-hug, and sat back down at the booth.

Connie had tried to get up nonchalantly and shove the two together in a kiss. All he does is shove Jean’s shoulder into Marco’s nose, creating a bloody mess all over the place. Marco spent the next ten minutes in the bathroom, and Connie gave Sasha an _I tried_ shrug.

Connie and Sasha leaned back into their seats in defeat. In order to improve moral, they challenge each other to an eating contest. Sasha, despite having the bigger meal, managed to win. Connie, despite having the smaller meal, ate too fast and vomited at the entrance of McDonalds. Everyone lost that round.  

 

* * *

 

The next hundred miles were delightfully uneventful. No one vomited and no trucks chased after them. They sung along to the radio badly, and every now and then Marco would turn the radio down. Eventually, the only noise in the car was Jean’s surprisingly okay singing. All watched on in surprised attention, but when Jean noticed he instantly went off key.

Jean tried to take several pictures of Marco as he’s driving, but failed every time. He either only gets a shot of an ear or an elbow, and he spent some time sulking from that. Eventually, he decided to join Sasha and Connie with their video games. It doesn’t work out, as the two just tag team against him and he died more than any other player, but it kept him from mulling over the awkward of the McDonalds moment.

Everyone slowly got more tired as the trip went on. Eventually, the trip became a game of ‘find the nearest campsite.’  After perusing a couple of sites with only one looking somewhat not sketchy, they park the minivan and unload the tents. Sasha and Connie, in a moment of genius, decided to leave Marco and Jean with the car as they set up the tent.

Being tired out from driving, both Jean and Marco didn’t feel inclined to protest being left with the car. Instead, both of them climbed to the top and lay down, awkwardly shoved together. The sky’s clear, and the milky way shone above them. Jean didn’t feel inclined to speak, and Marco didn’t either.

It was oddly comfortable, shoved on the top of a minivan. The silence isn’t intruding or awkward, instead peaceful and at ease. It’s the most at ease Jean’s felt with Marco in ages. Normally, there’s some awkward teenage feelings around Marco that always put him on edge. He loves his best friend, but he also _loves_ his best friend, and he’s surprised but pleased that they can share a moment like this.

Marco breathed out slowly, and closed his eyes. Jean, for a while, watched Marco instead of the constellations ahead. Then, not taking his eyes off of Marco, he said, “I really like you non-platonically.”

And then he _froze_. The awkward teenage feelings are back, but Jean can’t focus on them because all he can focus on is the pounding of his own heart. Marco’s eyes have jolted open and he’s slowly turning his head toward Jean. Jean’s panicking, but he can’t take back what he’s said and he’s left waiting on Marco’s response.

“Jean?” Marco started, looking directly at Jean. Hesitantly, Jean nodded, knowing that that wasn’t really a response but not knowing what else to do. Marco’s looking into Jean’s eyes, and then he’s not and Jean panicked before he realized that Marco was now looking at his _lips_ , and panicked more.

Marco turned on his side, carefully balancing on the roof of the car. Reaching over, he held Jean’s face in his hand and moved Jean’s lips to his own. Their noses bump, and the position is terribly awkward to make sure that they don’t fall off the roof, but it’s wonderful. Jean grasped the back of Marco’s neck and tried to drag him over, and Marco tried to keep balancing on the car without falling off.

Marco did well at the whole kissing and not falling off thing, but all is for naught when the moment is ruined by a loud “Holy shit.” Jean panicked, grabbing onto Marco and Marco lost his balance and rolled to the ground. Both boys fall terribly, and Marco knocked his nose _again_ , and the two don’t recover in time to stop Connie and Sasha from taking a photo.

Groaning and picking themselves up off the ground, Marco sat cross-legged on the the ground and held his nose, and Jean sat up, stared at Connie and Sasha, and flopped back down to the ground.

“ _You have got to be kidding me_ ,” Jean groaned, and Marco laughed despite himself. It didn’t help his bloody nose, just made it worse. Connie and Sasha laughed so hard they cried, holding onto each other and patting each other on the back in victory.

After wheezing for a good ten minutes, Connie finally managed to give them the news they were looking for. “Get the sleeping shit out of the trunk, Sasha got the tents up. We’re sharing one, you’re sharing one. If you keep us up you’re going on Facebook.”

Marco’s nose had stopped bleeding and Jean had moved on from his embarrassment, so they picked themselves up and hauled over their gear. Jean gave Marco a goofy grin; Marco returned one just as bright.

 

* * *

 

The tents had actually been set up rather well, which wasn’t surprising since Sasha had been in charge and not Connie. Sasha and Connie were already in their tent, texting away and wondering what the hell they’ll do for the rest of this trip. They hadn’t planned on what would happen if they actually succeeded.

Jean was busy shoving his oldass sleeping bag into his and Marco’s tent, and then crawled in. Stretching out the fabric, he looked at the old thing. It was some Pokemon sleeping bag he’d had since he was twelve. The stuffing was coming out in a couple places, he’d cut holes in the bottom for his feet, and Ash’s face at a poorly drawn pink mustache on it.

He had no idea why he’d never replaced that bag.

Marco came in next, shoving his actually competent sleeping bag on the ground next to them. Jean looked from Marco to his bag, and had the sudden complication that he didn’t know how to ask someone to cuddle. Sure; it had happened many times before, but that was mostly by them awkwardly sharing a bed, awkwardly waking up spooning, and awkwardly shoving each other apart. Jean wanted to avoid the awkward of the situation, now that they’d made out on the top of his shitty minivan, but had no idea how.

As Marco’s stretching out his sleeping bag, he finally settled on something. “Hey,” he looked over to Marco, “My sleeping bag is big enough for two people.”

Marco looked at Jean’s sleeping bag. He looked at Jean. He looked at the sleeping bag again, and then finally just scratched under his nose and said, “Um, yeah. Okay.”

The two try to shove themselves together in the shitty sleeping bag. It’s not working out at all for either of them. Marco’s curled up in the thing with terrible back pain, and most of Jean’s legs are pulled through the shitty holes at the bottom of the bag. Jean tried to make himself comfortable, but it isn’t working.

Marco was the first to give in. “I don’t think this is going to work, Jean,” he tried to reason, but Jean’s having none of it. Trying to position himself better, Jean squirmed around in the bag and shoved his elbow in Marco’s nose, making it bleed for the third time that day.

Marco squealed, and Jean hastily tried to recover from the situation and dislodge himself from the sleeping bag. It works, eventually, but not without ripping the entire bottom half of the sleeping bag to shreds.

Groping around the tent, Jean grabbed what looked like a shirt and gave it to Marco for his nose. It was actually a pair of his own boxer shorts, but neither Jean nor Marco would figure that out until morning _and_ until after Connie and Sasha would find it. Marco held the fabric to his nose, and despite its constant bleeding said, “Why are you always a danger to my nose.”

Jean, sitting cross-legged on the carnage of his old sleeping bag, tried to recover. “I just- I wanted to- you know. Cuddle. Little spoon thing that we always do anyway but without the we're just friends added to it. Because I figured- you know- we _could_.”

Marco put a hand over his face and sighed, but Jean knew he was, at the least, internally laughing at him. Jean mimicked the hand-over-face, and then added in defeat, “We could have just used both our sleeping bags together.”

Marco snorted, spewing more blood onto the fabric. Jean didn’t leave his defeated and ashamed cross-legged position until Marco’s set up their bedding. All the while, Jean kept muttering apologies of “I thought it was a cool idea” and “A line about combined sleeping bags would have just sounded awkward.”

Finishing with the bedding, Marco patted a space to signal to Jean he could wake from his shame. “Your line was sort of suave,” Marco remarked as Jean pulled himself over. Jean snuggled in next to him, finally comfortable. “Damn right it was,” Jean said. Marco’s arms are already around him at this point, and it’s comfortable and easy for them.

“You’re a dumbass,” Marco muttered into Jean’s hair, and Jean lightly elbowed him in the ribs. It was quiet, and all the two could hear was each other’s breathing. Jean could feel his eyelids droop, and closed them fully expecting to fall asleep.

That is, until Marco hummed an ‘I love you’ into Jean’s ear and Jean froze yet again. He was wide awake then, mind in a whirlwind of _shit he said the thing_ and having an internal freak out. As he slowly recovered, Jean responded with a weak “I also feel the thing. I mean. Same. Me too.”

Jean didn’t get a response for a while, and panicked more, until Marco let out a giant snore. The fucker was sleeping. Letting out an amused but slightly irritated huff, Jean figured he needed to do something to get back at Marco for dropping that bomb then just sleeping it off.

Picking through his pockets, he pulled out his almost-dead phone. Making sure the light was dim, he shoved the phone near his face and attempted to take a picture. It was awful; Jean could only see the top of his own head, and Marco’s face looked dumb and that fucker was drooling on his hair. He’d finally gotten a picture of Marco, but Jean could hardly tell it was him.

Nevertheless, it was suitable enough. Typing quickly into his phone, he uploaded the picture to facebook with the caption of ‘we’re dating now i think.’ Comments and likes come in immediately, most being ‘finally’s or ‘shit i lost that bet’s.

Jean stared at his phone, then shoved it back into his pocket, not bothering to flag the comments this time.


End file.
